


primal scream

by trishapocalypse



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, M/M, Pining, Sexual Content, brooding!zayn, slutty!Harry, the usual you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-11
Updated: 2013-05-11
Packaged: 2017-12-11 12:53:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/798952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trishapocalypse/pseuds/trishapocalypse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It started before Liam pulled Harry's pants down on stage, but then it kind of escalated from there.</p><p>(Or: the one where Zayn thinks about Harry on his knees a lot, pines for quite a while, and then finally gets what he wants.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	primal scream

**Author's Note:**

> Sigh. Here we are again? Hastily beta'd, written basically at one am, and I don't even know where these things come from. I think I wrote this for Tari? I usually write things for her. I don't know, man, this obviously isn't true so. Enjoy or something? You're all wonderful.
> 
> tumblr: @trishanthemum :)

The thing was, Harry looked _good_ on his knees. And that wasn't something that anyone could deny. But Harry was also a stupid little shit that Zayn couldn't deal with any longer. Things had changed since their first world tour; they saw their families less, girlfriends less (not that it counted for Zayn because he and Perrie were so on-again/off-again that he couldn't keep it straight and didn't even want to bother anymore), saw home less, all of it.

And if people thought being famous was conducive to getting all the sex they wanted, Zayn would promptly set them straight because, no, he couldn't go on the pull at a club without it being spread over page six and trending on twitter within a day. And with Perrie doing her own thing, Zayn didn't have as many options as people would've thought. He and the guys had an understanding; there was no judgment about sharing late night wanks and an occasional snog, but that was it—just enough to ease the tension.

Well, until it wasn't enough to ease the tension. Because Harry was the most attractive person Zayn knew and it wasn't _fair._ It wasn't fair how the headlines chronicled every girl Harry looked at because Zayn knew there was nothing there, knew how Harry was just desperate for the company of someone who _understood_ and he couldn't find it, and Zayn felt the same way. He was itching for it, for something he couldn't even name. And Zayn could only suffer from too many silent late-night/early-morning/mid-afternoon wanks with Harry's face appearing right as he came in his pants before he snapped.

And it wasn't even the fact that Zayn was actively thinking about Harry as he got off that bothered him. It was the fact that he wanted to _do_ things to Harry, things he never thought he would've been into, things he wasn't even sure if _Harry_ was into, and he didn't care. He wanted to push Harry's boundaries, his limits, push him to the edge until he was screaming, begging, crying, or all three at once and, Christ. He wanted Harry's lips red and swollen, either from kissing or sucking Zayn's dick, his curls matted against his forehead, hands gripping the headboard as Zayn fucked him slow, deep, his abs twitching and his cock leaking, until he was whimpering and begging to come. He wanted Harry face-down on the bed, shamelessly pushing back against him, cheek pressed against the mattress as Zayn licked him, opening him up with his tongue, pushing him to the edge before stopping just to hear Harry whine, and fuck. He wanted Harry boneless and begging, pliant in his arms, curses falling from his lips as Zayn pressed three fingers deep inside of him, stroking, bringing him closer, while Zayn told him just how fucking _pretty_ he is.

It wasn't these images, these thoughts, these daydreams that worried Zayn. It was having these thoughts onstage, in front of thousands of people, and Zayn wanted to grab Harry's curls and force him to his knees, press his cock against those lips until Harry's green eyes were wide and begging, and.

Maybe Zayn had a little bit of a problem. But he knew Harry was the solution.

 

+

 

It didn’t help when Liam pulled Harry’s trousers down onstage. 

They’d all seen each other naked before, that wasn’t a big deal. But Zayn’s eyes had widened and he bit his tongue, resisting the urge to moan at the sight. Harry’s legs were pale, lean, and long, and yeah, Zayn wanted them wrapped around his waist, around his neck, he didn’t even _care._ He wanted to see his tan fingers pressing into the pale skin, spreading him open; he wanted to see Harry’s skin redden under his hands, under his lips. And when he asked Liam why he did it after the show, Liam just shrugged, his brown eyes twinkling.

“Why not?” Liam had asked with a laugh.

Zayn bit his lip as Harry, Niall, and Louis stumbled into the room, all laughing, all joking about how at least Harry was wearing pants that day and, oh, it would’ve been a _far_ different show if Harry had forgotten his pants that morning. Zayn wasn’t sure if he would’ve been able to stop himself. 

Harry smiled, eyes bright, and he walked over to Liam, wrapping his arms around his waist, nuzzling the side of his neck. 

Zayn sucked his lower lip into his mouth, watching as Harry curled up against Liam’s side, and he had never hated Liam before. 

“Y’alright there, Zayn?” Harry asked him.

Zayn nodded quickly, eyes never leaving Harry’s.

Harry’s cheeks flushed, just barely, and he could’ve blamed it on the after show high, the adrenaline flooding his veins, and he ducked his head. 

Liam dug his fingers into Harry’s side, causing the younger boy to twitch and let out a loud giggle. “Not mad at me, are ya?”

“No,” Harry answered automatically, pushing his curls out of his face. “Just glad ya didn’t pull down my pants, too.”

Liam laughed.

“Oh, the girls woulda loved that!” Louis announced loudly.

“Some guys, too,” Liam offered.

Harry met Liam’s eyes and bit the inside of his cheek. “Stop,” he told him softly.

Liam smiled before pushing Harry towards the showers, swatting him on the arse. “Go shower.”

Zayn watched as Harry walked away, head ducked as he escaped to the shower.

“Zayn?”

Zayn snapped his head toward Liam, avoiding the curious look in his eyes. “Probably shouldn’t do that again—twitter might explode,” he told him, running his hand through his quiff. “Need a fag. I’ll be back.”

And Zayn escaped to the back of the stadium, pressed against the wall with his security only a few feet away. He took a slow drag from the cigarette, exhaling the smoke, and he let his head fall back against the brick wall. He needed time, he needed to collect his thoughts, and he didn’t _need_ to be stuck on the bus with his band mates for twelve hours just yet. It was half-ten and they had to leave by midnight, and that wasn’t enough time for Zayn to disengage himself from his thoughts that were swimming with _Harry Harry Harry._

 

+

 

Zayn started paying closer attention to Liam and Harry when they were together. Harry was cuddly, affectionate, he just always wanted to be _touching_ someone, but it was different with Liam. Zayn never wanted to be Liam before, but he found himself wishing the two of them could switch places, so Harry could be sprawled over _his_ lap, fingers pressed against the back of _his_ neck, whispering into _his_ ear, and that was a problem. It was a problem because he was Zayn, and he didn’t want to care, and he didn’t want to be bothered, but he was. Because there was something going on, there had to have been, and he wasn’t sure what it was, and he didn’t even know if he wanted to know.

No one else found it odd, Harry and Liam’s behavior. No one else acted like anything was different. Which made Zayn wonder if it was all in his head, but he knew it wasn’t. There’s no way he could’ve imagined the way Liam’s fingers tightened on Harry’s hip, the way Harry practically melted into Liam’s side, and Zayn wanted to know. He wanted to know what Liam’s trick was, how to get Harry like that for him, malleable and willing. There was a certain way that Liam would touch Harry, fingers at the base of his spine, that caused Harry’s wide eyes to slip shut, his lips pout, and that’s what Zayn wanted. 

Zayn wanted his touch to cause that reaction out of Harry. Zayn wanted Harry in his arms, gasping and arching his back. Zayn wanted Harry naked, limbs bare and spread across his sheets, a sleepy smile on his face. Zayn wanted to wake up next to Harry, press his lips against his neck, and fuck him slowly until he shivered and fell apart. Zayn wanted Harry touch himself while he wrapped his lips around Zayn. Zayn wanted to come all over his pretty little face— _that’s_ what he wanted. 

And Liam could make that happen. Zayn wasn’t sure how, but he knew Liam was the key to getting Harry on his knees. 

 

+

 

“What’s going on with you and Haz?” Zayn found himself asking a week later before the show. Liam was buttoning up his shirt and Zayn was running product through his hair, refusing to let their eyes meet in the mirror. They were alone; Harry had just left to get something off the bus, Louis was on the phone with his girlfriend, and Niall was probably stuffing his face full of Nandos. 

“What do you mean?” Liam asked, leaning over to pull on his trainers and tie them up. 

Zayn paused and part of him regretted asking, wishing he could take it back, but he couldn’t. And he wanted to know the answer more than he cared about being embarrassed. “You just have a different relationship with him than the rest of us,” Zayn said, choosing his words carefully.

Liam hesitated for a minute before looking up, attempting to meet Zayn’s eyes through the mirror. “I’m not sure what you mean by that.”

“Just… You two seem very close, is all,” he shrugged.

“Harry’s close with everyone,” Liam told him. 

“Seems different with you.”

Liam sucked in a deep breath, standing from the couch and walking over to the mirror to stand next to Zayn. “Is it obvious?” Liam asked quietly.

Zayn shook his head. “Doubt anyone else notices.”

“But you do.”

“Yeah,” Zayn said with a nod. 

“You watch him a lot.”

“Is it obvious?” Zayn repeated, voice soft.

“To me, yes,” Liam told him, resting a hand on Zayn’s lower back.

Zayn stilled, feeling the heat from Liam’s hand sink through his thin white shirt, and he felt calm. 

“Don’t ask questions you’re not prepared to know the answer to, Zayn,” Liam said softly. He ran his hand across Zayn’s back, briefly meeting his eyes in the mirror, before he ducked out of the room. 

Zayn leaned over, grasping the edge of the countertop, realizing that he had more questions now than he had before.

 

+

 

Zayn knew Liam had been working out a bit more since his breakup with Dani, but now it was obvious. He didn’t miss the way Harry’s eyes widened as Liam peeled off his shirt after the show, tossing it aside before pulling on a clean one. And maybe that’s what Harry was looking for—someone strong, someone big, someone who could push him around and lift him up, and that wasn’t Zayn. Because Zayn was strong, but he was small, and his gut sank thinking if that’s what Harry wanted, then Harry would never want him. 

Liam sent Harry a small smile; one Zayn didn’t miss, and walked out of the room. Zayn counted the minutes—seconds, really—until Harry made up some bullshit excuse and left, following in Liam’s footsteps. No one else noticed, or no one else cared, and that made Zayn’s blood boil. Because, shit, how could no one else notice Harry and Liam sneaking off all the time? Because Zayn couldn’t ignore it, his eyes were practically trained to catch every move that Harry made, onstage and off. Zayn tried to ignore it, tried to distract himself by joking around with Louis and Niall as he changed into some joggers and a tank top, shoving his dirty clothes into the bottom of his bag, but his mind was still on Harry and Liam and, fuck, what were they even _doing?_ And did they really think they could get any privacy in a bloody _arena?_ Zayn’s hand was on the door handle before he realized it, didn’t even know he was about to leave until Louis called out after him.

“Y’alright, mate? Where ya goin?” Louis asked.

“Forgot something,” Zayn muttered, ignoring Louis’ laughter as he stepped out of the dressing room. He had absolutely no idea where Liam had taken Harry and he refused to admit that he was actively looking for them—but he was. It took him ten, fifteen, twenty minutes—he wasn’t sure. And he wasn’t prepared for what he saw when he finally did find them. 

Liam’s arms were bulging, holding Harry up against the wall of the venue. Harry’s long legs were wrapped around Liam’s waist, head tilted back, mouth parted, and lips red. One of Liam’s hands was twisted in Harry’s shirt, pulling it down his chest, and Liam’s lips were pressed against Harry’s collarbone. Zayn’s breath caught in his throat and he ducked behind the door; he didn’t think he was going to be exposed, but he wasn’t going to risk losing the view. He leaned out enough, just enough to see Harry’s hips pressing down against Liam, and Zayn could hear quiet, breathy moans escaping Harry’s lips. 

Zayn felt his cock twitch in his joggers and he bit his lower lip, sucking it into his mouth. Liam’s teeth were tugging at the skin of Harry’s collarbone, right above his tattoo, and Zayn knew it was on purpose as to hide the bruise that he was no doubt making. Harry slid his hands up Liam’s back, to the back of his neck, holding his mouth in place. Zayn’s grip tightened on the door, eyes falling down to Harry’s hips and he could tell he was hard, just by how he was grinding down against Liam. By the time his eyes found Harry’s face, he was shocked to see Harry staring right back at him. Zayn’s mouth fell open and he took a step back, not missing the small smile on Harry’s lips, before he turned around and ran back to the dressing room. He slammed the door shut behind him, breathing heavily, and he momentarily forgot that he wasn’t alone.

“Now I _know_ you’re not alright,” Niall commented, opening a bag of crisps and taking in Zayn’s flushed face and wide eyes.

“M’fine,” Zayn said quickly.

Louis rolled his eyes. 

“You’re not—“ Niall started before he was cut off.

“He’s fine,” Louis said. “Have you seen Harry? He owes me a round on FIFA.”

“Haven’t seen him at all,” Zayn muttered, grabbing his bag off of the floor. “I’m going to the bus.”

Niall nodded. “M’gonna join you,” he said, reaching for his own bag.

Louis pouted. “I see how it is. Leave me all alone.”

“Sounds about right,” Niall said, shoving another crisp into his mouth. “Let’s go, Z.”

Zayn wanted to be alone, but maybe he really didn’t. Because if hew as alone, he was going to be thinking about Harry, thinking about Liam, wishing he was the one pressing Harry against the wall, wishing he could make Harry make those sounds. But he wasn’t even sure if he could handle it. He couldn’t handle the way Harry was grinding against Liam, the way Harry smiled and licked his lips when he met Zayn’s eyes, he couldn’t _handle it._ And Zayn had always been good about handling things. But Harry was probably the exception, because Harry was always the exception.

 

+

 

Zayn decided he was prepared to ask Liam again, ask him the same question, because he knew he was prepared this time. He had to be prepared, because the past ten days had been torturous. Harry obviously hadn’t told Liam about Zayn lurking, catching them, and then keeping it silent, because Liam had never said or done anything to indicate that he knew Zayn’s dirty little secret. But Harry, Harry knew, and he kept sending Zayn little smiles, secretive glances when no one else was looking, reaching for his hand as he walked by just to get a little skin-on-skin contact. And Zayn, he was falling apart. 

They were alone on the bus; Liam was messing around with his laptop when Zayn exited his bunk and sat down next to him.

Liam looked over at him, sending him a small smile, before messing around on his Twitter account. “What’s up, Z?”

“I have to know, Liam,” Zayn said quietly. 

“Zayn—“

“I need to know,” Zayn interrupted, correcting himself. 

“You like him, then?” Liam asked.

Zayn hesitated. He didn’t know if he _liked_ Harry as much as he wanted to completely ruin him, leave him breathless, boneless, begging. “He’s my best mate,” he settled for, because it was the truth. 

Liam rolled his eyes. “It isn’t about being someone’s best mate, Zayn,” he said quietly. “Harry is…different.”

“I know.”

“You don’t,” Liam told him. “What we have, it isn’t…sexual—“

“Looked pretty sexual to me,” Zayn whispered.

Liam paused. “I’m sorry?”

Zayn cursed under his breath, realizing he had just thrown himself under the bus. “Nothing.”

Liam sighed. “You saw, didn’t you? Would explain a lot of Harry’s behavior this week,” he mused.

“I didn’t—“ Zayn cut himself off with a shake of his head. “If it’s not sexual, then what is it? He looked like…it was something sexual.”

“It’s not sexual for me,” Liam offered. “Harry…is needy. And not… It’s… It’s difficult to explain.”

Zayn nodded. 

“He likes to be close to people,” Liam told him. “He likes being needed, being…desired, knowing that someone wants him—“

“He’s got to know that people do want him, though,” Zayn said quietly because, fuck, he knew he wasn’t the only person who wanted Harry bloody Styles. And he wasn’t going to be the last.

“Not strangers,” he corrected. “Someone close to him, someone he trusts, someone he can get off with and know there’s no judgment.”

“Why would any of us judge him? Why did he go to you?” Zayn asked. 

“He needs to be told what to do, Zayn,” Liam said. “You know what Louis would say, what he would do—he’d be a right twat about it. Niall would just…be severely uncomfortable, try to make it into a joke, and Harry doesn’t want it to be joked about.”

“And me?”

Liam frowned. “What about you?”

“There’s gotta be a reason he didn’t come to me,” Zayn told him. “So let’s have it. I’m ready.”

Liam closed his laptop, setting it aside, and he sat up, finally turning to face Zayn. “You’re his type,” he said simply.

Zayn scoffed. “I’m his _type_ so he didn’t come to me to…get him off?”

“It’s not _just_ about getting him off, Zayn,” Liam said. “It’s about making him feel loved, feel wanted, cuddling him instead of just getting him off.”

“I like to cuddle,” Zayn protested quietly.

“I know,” Liam said with a nod. “He knows that, too. You’re just…different.”

Different. Zayn had been called different before, but it had never felt like an insult before. “Good to know,” he muttered, standing up.

Liam grabbed his wrist before he could walk away. “You’ve got to trust me when I tell you there’s a reason why he didn’t go to you, Zayn. I can’t tell you what it is, but there’s a reason,” he promised.

Zayn jerked his arm out of Liam’s grasp and, shit, he didn’t even know why he was angry with _Liam_ because the poor bloke did nothing wrong. But he was angry, he was angry with Harry for having secrets and not trusting Zayn, not coming to him, even though he didn’t even know what he would’ve said, what he would’ve done if Harry _had_ come to him. Because Zayn really felt like he was falling apart, and he blamed it all on Harry. He blamed it on Harry’s eyes, his lips, his hands, his legs, everything about Harry, because he was a package deal and Zayn wanted it all. He wanted whatever part of Harry that Liam had, because Liam said it wasn’t sexual for him, but it would definitely be sexual for Zayn. And Liam didn’t deserve it, didn’t _deserve_ that part of Harry, because he wouldn’t treasure and cherish it the way that Zayn would. 

 

+

 

After his conversation with Liam, Zayn tried. He tried to treat Harry differently, just a little more subtly. He wanted to prove something to him, but he wasn't even sure _what._

When they were pressed together on the couch in the dressing room, Zayn was no longer uncomfortable, because he felt like he knew what he had to do. He slipped an arm around Harry's waist, and Harry immediately sunk against his side, burying his face against Zayn's neck. Zayn caught Liam's eyes, expecting to see some sort of jealousy, but all he saw was a soft smile and Liam nodded.

Zayn wrapped his hand tighter around Harry's waist, and he felt the younger boy exhale against the side of his neck. He bit his bottom lip, resting his head against Harry's. It felt normal, it felt _right_ being so close to Harry. It felt right when Harry threw his arm over Zayn's stomach, his legs resting across his lap like Harry couldn't stand to not be touching him. And Harry never did that with Liam or with any of the other guys. Only Zayn.

"I like cuddling you," Harry told him softly.

Zayn smiled, running his knuckles across the small strip of skin between Harry's shirt and trousers, feeling him shiver. He liked that reaction, he wanted more of it, so he slipped his hand under Harry's shirt, spreading his fingers against the small of his back, and Harry sighed, nuzzling closer against his neck. "You can cuddle me whenever you want," he replied, remembering what Liam had told him about Harry wanting to feel needed. "I would like you to, actually."

Harry pulled away briefly, meeting Zayn's eyes. "Yeah?"

Zayn nodded. "I quite like cuddling you as well."

Harry smiled widely. "Good."

And things felt normal. Zayn didn't feel quite as brooding, quite as off. He felt like he and Harry were on the mend, even though nothing had been wrong in the first place. And everything was more bearable.

Until a week later when he caught Liam and Harry again, lazily making out in the back of the venue like they had all the time in the world, like no one could ever walk by and catch them. And Zayn was _hurt._ A part of his brain was telling him he had no right to be upset, because he knew Liam said that nothing was going on, but Liam was gripping Harry's hips and Harry was moaning softly and it didn't look like _nothing._ But he couldn't even really be angry, not really, because he was _different_ to Harry and, fuck, what did that even _mean_ anyway? And why wasn't it _him_? The one Harry was going to, the one pushing him against the wall, the one sucking bruises into the soft pale skin of his neck. And Zayn wasn't over his little obsession, his little crush, because everything came back full throttle and he just _wanted._ He wanted Harry so blindly that he couldn't stop it.

He turned and left, finding Louis in the dressing room, and he sat down on the couch.

"You look exhausted, mate," Louis said, briefly glancing up from his mobile.

"Yeah, just need a good night sleep is all," he told him, refusing to add _and a wank in the shower thanks to our stupidly attractive band mate_ because they were close but no one needed to know _that._

"Good thing it's a hotel night, yeah?" Louis said with a smile.

Hotel nights were few and far between as of late, and Zayn almost forgot what a real bed felt like. And thank God because that meant they had the next day free and he could just _sleep._ That's exactly what he needed.

 

+

 

They were at that level of boyband fame that equaled private hotel rooms. Suites, really, meaning they didn't have to share. That night Zayn missed the old days because that would've meant rooming with someone, and the way Liam had been acting would've meant that Zayn would've been rooming with Harry. But at the same time, he was thankful, because Harry had looked amazing onstage that night, his green eyes wide, his smile bright, thousands of hearts breaking in the audience, and Zayn was smitten. Harry had smiled at him, something so simple and so common, but it renewed the fire in Zayn's stomach and he was right back to _wanting_ Harry. And after the show he kept repeating Liam's words in his head, how Harry wanted to feel wanted, wanted to be told what to do, and then he was _thinking_ about it. He was thinking about how eager Harry would be, because he wanted to please everyone, and he wanted to see that part of Harry more than anything.

But he was alone in his hotel suite, some Swedish movie playing on the telly, and he couldn't stop thinking about Harry. He had taken a bath, tried to relax, but his every thought was consumed with the lanky, curly-haired boy. He had washed his hair and gotten out, pulling on a pair of joggers, and laid down on the bed, watching the first movie he found, and his mobile vibrated on the bed next to him.

_hazza wants to come see yoou._

Zayn's breath caught in his throat as he read Liam's message. Why would Harry want to come to _him_ when he had Liam? He sat up, running a hand through his hair, and he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

 _why??_ he texted him back before realizing how heavy he was breathing because, fuck, he was gonna have Harry alone in his suite. Alone. No Liam, no venue of fans, no bus, just the two of them--and it had been a _long_ time since that had happened. And Zayn didn't even know what he should _do._ (Well, he had a couple of ideas.)

_wants to talk to you. alright?_

_of course._

_he's on his way. be nicee._

Zayn rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath that he was _always_ nice, before pausing. Because Harry was on his way and, fuck, Zayn was _nervous._ Partially because he didn't know what to expect, partially because he didn't know what Harry wanted, and partially because he didn't know how to not _touch_ Harry in every way he wanted. A knock on the door shook him out of his reverie and he almost wished he had ignored Liam's message. (Almost.) But he opened the door and Harry was there, wearing joggers rolled up over his ankles and a loose white t shirt, feet bare, mobile pressed into his palm, and he looked nervous, unsure, mirroring Zayn's internal struggle perfectly.

"Can I come in?"

Zayn nodded because he knew he could never deny Harry anything, wouldn't want to. "Liam said you wanted to talk to me," he said softly as Harry walked past him, plugging his mobile into Zayn's charger and setting it on the nightstand.

"Yeah," Harry nodded, pushing his curls out of his face. "I do."

Zayn climbed onto the bed, crossing his legs and looking up at Harry as if silently telling him to continue.

“You’ve been weird lately,” Harry said, looking down at the comforter on the bed and trailing his fingers over it to keep his hands occupied. 

“Just got a lot on my mind,” Zayn told him with a shrug. 

“Because of Perrie?”

Zayn paused because, no, not because of Perrie, she was lovely but she had nothing to do with it. It was all Harry, all because of Harry, but it wasn’t like he could just come out and _say_ that. 

“I know you two were close—“

“It’s not because of Perrie,” Zayn interrupted, shaking his head.

Harry hesitated. “Oh.” He waited for a moment before he climbed on the bed, sitting across from Zayn. He opened his mouth to say something but stopped himself, instead fidgeting with the watch on his wrist. 

“What is it?” 

“You’ve just been different towards me lately,” Harry said quietly.

Zayn scoffed lightly, shaking his head again. 

“What?”

“Just heard that word a lot lately— _different_ ,” he said with a roll of his eyes.

“Different’s not always a bad thing.”

Zayn shrugged. 

“You’ve been like that since…” he hesitated.

“Since I saw you and Liam?” Zayn offered.

Harry sucked is bottom lip into his mouth and he nodded. “Yeah.”

Zayn shrugged. “Coincidence. I don’t care about you and Liam—well, I _do_ but whatever you two do is your business,” he corrected with a shrug. 

“It’s not like that,” Harry told him. “We’re not into one another, you know?”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Harry.”

Harry nodded and looked down at his hands. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, Harry, you’ve nothing to be sorry for,” Zayn told him.

Harry nodded again, reaching up to shake his curls out. “Can I stay here tonight?” he asked quietly.

Zayn knew Harry had a perfectly good hotel suite just down the hall, a suite right next to Liam, but Harry was there, in _his_ bed, asking if he could stay the night with _him_ and Zayn couldn’t say no—didn’t _want_ to. He nodded and scooted up the bed, crawling under the comforter.

Harry smiled, jumping up and turning out the light before climbing in the bed behind Zayn, muttering about how he wanted to be the big spoon for once. 

Zayn sucked in a deep breath as Harry’s arm wound around his waist, dragging him back against his chest. Harry tucked his chin over Zayn’s shoulder, palm spread out against Zayn’s lower stomach. And everything should’ve been fine, should’ve been great, but Zayn’s mind was racing back and forth between Harry and Liam, and Liam might not have felt anything for Harry, but Harry was the type to wear his heart on his sleeve and love without a second thought, and. What if Harry _did_ have feelings for Liam and just didn’t know how to tell Zayn?

“Stop thinking so loud,” Harry whispered against Zayn’s neck, lips brushing across his pulse point.

“Do you want to…be with Liam?” Zayn asked suddenly.

Harry shook his head, curls tickling the sensitive skin of Zayn’s neck. “No.”

“But you two…do things,” he offered lamely.

“But it’s not about that,” Harry said softly. 

“Is it just because we’re on tour?”

Harry hesitated. “Yeah.”

Zayn didn’t believe him, but it was better than hearing that Harry was secretly in love with Liam and pining, pining for something he wasn’t sure was going to happen. So he just accepted it, reaching for Harry’s hand and lacing their fingers together against his stomach, and let himself drift off to sleep. 

 

+

 

It wasn’t like Zayn was expecting an instant change overnight since his and Harry’s conversation; he wasn’t really expecting _anything_ because life had taught him that expectations were useless and he didn’t want to be let down. But things _did_ change, not dramatically, but enough. Instead of climbing all over Liam, Harry wound himself around Zayn’s body, whether they were on the bus, backstage, an interview, onstage—it didn’t matter. It was as if Harry didn’t want to let Zayn out of his sight. And Zayn knew it was different, it had to be, because he and Harry weren’t even _doing_ anything apart from cuddling. And really, that wasn’t even much of a stretch, because Harry just liked being touched and Zayn was a big fan of cuddling in general. But Liam was sending him these _looks_ and he didn’t even know why. 

Because things were changing, and Harry was spending all of his time wrapped up with Zayn. He would crawl into his bunk at night, no matter how uncomfortable they were, his arms pulling Zayn close as they would whisper against one another’s skin. Zayn wasn’t a teenager anymore but he couldn’t deny Harry anything, especially when Harry’s voice was low and deep, sharing his own secrets and encouraging Zayn to do the same. 

And really, he thought he knew Harry, but there was so much more to him. And part of him didn’t want to know these secrets, know these parts of him that he kept hidden, because Harry was perfect, and Zayn wasn’t quite able to wrap his mind around that. But Harry would still whisper against his neck, fingertips tracing patterns onto Zayn’s back or stomach, and Zayn was helpless, telling Harry whatever he wanted to know just to keep him close. 

On the next hotel night, Harry was back at his door, a beanie pulled over his curls and his iPhone charger in hand. Harry slipped past him, muttering about how he wasn’t going to let Zayn’s mobile die again just because he wanted to charge his own, and Zayn smiled. Because this was routine now, it was routine to find Harry wherever he was. It was routine for Harry to tug off his beanie, tossing it on top of Zayn’s bag, pushing down his joggers, leaving him in his pants, and removing his shirt before crawling under the blankets. He pulled Zayn’s pillow to his chest and Zayn pouted, because Harry knew how he felt about his pillow. And when Harry looked up at him through his curls, asking him to join, Zayn couldn’t say no, and he wouldn’t anyway. 

Zayn crawled into the bed, pressing his back against Harry’s chest, and he wondered what he was going to learn about Harry that night. He thought he knew everything, maybe he was hoping he did, because he didn’t know if he could stomach learning anything else new and wonderful about the boy.

“Why didn’t you and Perrie work out?”

Zayn’s eyes drifted shut, because they had been relatively careful about avoiding the topic of significant others, except from the time Zayn had asked if Liam was a good kisser. 

“And no bullshit excuse either,” Harry added, snuggling against Zayn’s back as if he was trying to become a part of him. 

“A bunch of little things, I s’pose,” Zayn told him. “Being on tour, never seeing one another, things like that.”

“But you weren’t sad?”

Zayn shrugged. “Not really. Figured it was best to move on.”

“But you haven’t moved on,” Harry said quietly.

“I feel like I have,” Zayn replied. 

“Do you… Are you interested in anyone?” Harry asked.

“Harry—“

“This is what we do, Zayn,” he told him.

Zayn could feel him smile against the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he admitted softly because, yes, he was interested in Harry, and it started out as sexual and now it was emotional and mental and everything and he couldn’t shake it. 

“Do I know her?”

“You know him,” Zayn told him before he lost his nerve, and he didn’t miss the hesitation in Harry’s fingers as they traced over his stomach. 

“I know him?” Harry repeated.

And Zayn didn’t miss the way his tone changed and he rolled over onto his back.

“Is it Liam?” Harry asked with a frown, because that would’ve made sense, the way Zayn got all silent about the whole _situation_ and Liam was fit and—

“No,” Zayn said quickly, shaking his head. “It’s not Liam.”

“Oh. But you’ve never…” Harry trailed off. “I mean, you’ve never…been with a guy? Unless you just didn’t tell me—“

“I haven’t,” Zayn confirmed with a nod. 

“So… Do you… _like_ him? Or just think he’s fit? Or—“

“He’s very fit,” Zayn told him because, hell, Harry was. He was fit, he was perfect, he was sexy, he was gorgeous, he was beautiful, and he was so damn _pretty_.

Harry rested his weight on his elbow, running a hand through his curls in a nervous habit that he couldn’t quite kick. “Oh.”

“And he’s also someone I’m quite fond of,” Zayn added, because it wasn’t just about how physically appealing Harry was to him. It was all of Harry’s quirks and qualities that Zayn had grown accustomed to and didn’t know how to go without. 

“But how can you be sure if you’ve never kissed a boy?” Harry asked him. “I didn’t even, like—It took someone to make me think about it. Is that what happened with you?”

Zayn nodded because it was true. Zayn wasn’t interested in _boys_ , he was interested in _Harry_ who just so happened to be a boy. He reached for Harry’s waist, dragging his fingertips up his ribcage, and Harry shivered under his touch. Zayn shifted on his back towards a more comfortable position and he grabbed Harry’s hips, pulling him so he was lying between his legs. Zayn couldn’t see it but he swore that Harry was blushing, and he liked causing that sort of reaction from him. 

“I want to kiss you,” Harry said suddenly. “I—I’m sorry, I just… I don’t—I want to kiss you.”

“Okay,” Zayn said.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yes.”

Harry smiled, crawling up the length of Zayn’s body, their bare chests pressed together, and he hesitated. Zayn slid his hands up Harry’s back, over his shoulderblades, and back down again before they rested against his lower back, fingertips pressing against his spine. Zayn leaned up, brushing their noses together, before cover Harry’s lips with his own. It was soft, gentle, everything Zayn didn’t want when he first started thinking about kissing Harry, but he didn’t want to change it, because it was actually quite perfect. He felt Harry sigh against his mouth and he nipped at his lower lip before he pulled away, resting his head back down against the pillow. 

“Y’alright?” Zayn asked, hoping he didn’t sound quite as breathless as he felt, because hell it was _only_ a kiss and, yes, Harry was _that_ good but still. 

Harry nodded. “Are. Are you?”

“Of course.”

“But… I don’t want you to feel like you have to kiss me, not if you like someone else,” Harry stammered, sitting back on his knees and creating distance between him and Zayn.

Zayn smiled softly because Harry was adorable and wonderful and perfect and _of course_ he would think about something like that. “I don’t feel like I have to kiss you,” Zayn told him. “I _want_ to kiss you.”

“But—“

“Don’t be daft, Harry,” Zayn told him with a smile. “It’s you.”

And Zayn could’ve felt like an idiot, a fool, because he knew how sappy and cliché and sentimental he was being but he didn’t _care_ because Harry was smiling, beaming down at him, before kissing him again, and Zayn was pretty sure that it didn’t get any better than that. 

 

+

 

And everything was fine, until it wasn't again. It started off slow, sneaking kisses whenever they could, cuddling at every opportunity, and Zayn could feel the dark cloud that had been following him around slowly start to dissipate. Harry would still climb into his bunk, whispering against his neck, before kissing him goodnight. It was the same as before, only _better_ because Zayn actually kind of _had_ Harry.

It started of subtle, an eye roll here or there at a comment that would normally inspire a smile or a laugh. It was a grumbled "piss off" when Niall would throw a pillow at him, a louder "piss off" when Louis would jump in. It was Harry pulling the covers over his head and pushing Zayn away when he went to lie next to him. It was eye rolling and snarky comments, behavior that was very uncharacteristic, Harry's laughter a rare occasion, and it wasn't _right_.

Zayn could hear Liam with Harry in the back room of the bus, and he told himself not to get angry, not to get jealous, because while he and Harry were _Zayn and Harry_ they also weren't exactly...anything, not really. And he told himself that it wouldn't happen, not on the bus, not while everyone was awake and _there_ only half distracted with video games. And Liam walked out of the back room, sighing, clearly frustrated and muttering under his breath.

Zayn looked up from his sketchbook and pretended that he wasn't studiously examining every inch of Liam that he could for any sign that Harry had been touching him. "Y'alright?"

Liam nodded. "Harry's just in a mood."

"He's been in one for two weeks," Louis said. "Not really a surprise."

"Yeah, but Harry's never in moods," Niall pointed out. "Zayn's the moody one."

"Hey!" Zayn protested, but weakly because it wasn't exactly a lie.

"Maybe he just needs to get laid," Louis muttered.

And, shit. That—that would make sense. And it was completely _obvious_ now because Zayn knew—or, well, he _thought_ that Harry and Liam had ended their _thing_ and it never occurred to him. It never occurred to him that maybe Harry missed it, missed having someone to get him off, because they had spent their nights cuddling and making out but Zayn was hesitant to take it further because Harry was intoxicating and he didn't know if he would be able to _stop._ He was so used to the blind _want_ he felt for Harry that he didn't realize that maybe Harry was wanting the same thing.

Zayn chanced a glance over at Liam who was looking at him from under his eyelashes. "Maybe he does," Zayn muttered with a shrug, trying to play it off. Because if there was one thing that he didn't want, it was Louis in his business and making jokes about Harry. But Zayn thought about it, really thought about it, and didn't stop because, shit, Harry must've been so on edge that it wouldn't take much. It would probably barely take Zayn sliding his hand into his pants, cupping around his length, swiping his thumb over his slit and he could practically _see_ the way that Harry would shiver, hear the moans that would leave his lips, and the blissed out look on his face, and hell. He couldn't stop thinking about it.

 

+

 

Even though they had separate hotel rooms, Zayn was still used to Harry sneaking into his room, under the covers, bare feet pressing against Zayn's calves, fingers trailing over his stomach. But Harry wasn't there, and he wasn't answering his mobile, and Zayn didn't really know how to relax without the curly-haired boy next to him. He showered and tried to calm down, telling himself Harry would be there, but it didn't work and Harry never showed. He pulled on a pair of joggers and a tank top, shoving his key card and mobile into his pocket, before he walked to Harry's room and pounded on the door.

"There's a 'Do Not Disturb' sign posted for a reason."

"Harry, open up, please," Zayn said quietly because he really didn't need any of the guys eavesdropping.

Harry opened the door, just barely. "I'm trying to sleep, Zayn."

"I tried to do the same, but I guess I'm just used to you being next to me," he admitted.

Harry sighed, leaning against the door. "Just—"

"Harry, let me in," Zayn told him, using as much authority in his tone as he could, remembering Liam's words.

Harry's eyes widened and he hesitated for the briefest of seconds before he opened the door, ushering Zayn in. He shut the door behind him and clasped his hands in front of him. "I'm—"

"What's going on?" Zayn interrupted, turning around to face him. "You've been in a foul mood all week."

"I just...need to relax," Harry finished lamely, shrugging one shoulder.

Zayn's mind was yelling _bullshit_ but he didn't vocalize that. "Go take a hot shower," he told him.

Harry frowned. "But—"

"Go," Zayn told him again, and Harry listened. The moment the bathroom door was shut, Zayn was pulling his mobile out of his pocket and texting Liam.

_i think louis was right. help me._

_what are u talking about?_

_i think haz needs to get laid and i want to help but i don't know how, not like you do._

Because Liam had a way of making everyone feel comfortable, nothing was ever stupid or too personal to go to him with, and Zayn trusted him with these matters implicitly because Harry did.

_Hazza isn't with u bc he still wants what I can give him, Z. He likes you. u'll be fine._

_i'm so out of my element. idk what he likes or hates or anything._

_what have u two done?_

_kissing._

_he likes kissingg._

Zayn ran his hands over his face because Liam wasn’t exactly being _helpful._ But he at least knew Liam was taking him seriously just by the way he was texting him but, dammit, he actually needed _advice._

_yeah but what else? help me pls i don't wanna mess this up_

_play with his hair. touch him alot? he likes being told he's a good boyy._

_christ, liam._

_let him touch you. he likes touchingg more than being touched, I'd wager._

_yeah i can do that_

_& if it gets to that point, take your time fingering him. he's beautiful when he's wrecked._

Zayn was about to reply, fingers hovering over the keys, but he paused because Christ, just the thought of Harry wrecked with Zayn's fingers pressing inside of him was enough for Zayn's cock to twitch in his joggers. He was gathering his wits to reply to Liam when the bathroom door swung open and Harry stood there, shaking his hair from his eyes.

"I can't do it anymore, Zayn."

Zayn's stomach dropped because of course he would be texting Liam about having sex with Harry and now Harry wanted nothing to do with him. "Can't do what?"

"This! I understand if kissing is all you want, and that's alright, but it's not because I need to get off," Harry told him, his voice low as he rambled, gripping the towel around his waist before it fell off.

"What's stopping you?" Zayn asked because he wasn't an asshole, he was genuinely curious. Because if Harry wanted to get off, he could easily wank, but maybe it wasn't that easy.

Harry paused, shifting from foot to foot. "I can't."

"Can't?"

"Get off alone."

Zayn's breath caught in his throat because that, that was _new._ "You can't get off alone?"

Harry shook his head, his cheeks flushing.

"Come here," Zayn instructed, and he was completely in awe as Harry walked over to him, pausing by the edge of the bed between his legs. "Good boy."

Harry sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, biting back a moan.

"Don't hold back," Zayn told him, because he _was_ new and he wanted to hear Harry, wanted to know that he was enjoying it.

"Okay," Harry whispered.

Zayn trailed his fingers over Harry's stomach, familiar skin that he had seen before, but now he was overwhelmed with the desire to touch it, to taste it. Harry's muscles clenched under his touch and Zayn gripped the towel, pulling it off of his hips and letting it fall to the ground. He let his eyes take over Harry's body because, yes, he had seen it before, but this was a new experience entirely.

Harry clenched his hands into fists at his side as Zayn leaned forward and pressed his lips to the soft skin beneath his navel. He shuddered as Zayn licked across his stomach, between his hipbones, and he threaded his fingers through Zayn's quiff.

Zayn pulled away, looking up at Harry from under his eyelashes. "What do you want me to do?"

"Kiss me," Harry answered instantaneously.

Zayn nodded and grabbed Harry's hips, pulling him onto the bed to where he was straddling his lap. Zayn slid his fingers up Harry's back to grip his hair, crushing their lips together. It was messy, fast, slick, and Harry was moaning into Zayn's mouth in the most delicious way, rutting against his hips, trying to create friction. Zayn moved his hands to Harry's hips, slowing him down, and Harry whined, pulling away from Zayn's mouth, his lips obscenely red.

"Lay down," Zayn told him.

Harry nodded, climbing off of Zayn's lap to lie against the pillows. He turned his head and watched Zayn rise to his knees, pulling his tank top over his head and tossing it aside. Zayn climbed between Harry's legs, his joggers rubbing against Harry's sensitive and leaking cock, causing the younger boy to bite back a moan.

"What did I tell you about holding back?"

"Don't do it," Harry answered, eyes drifting shut as Zayn started grinding his hips down.

Zayn nodded, leaning down to press his lips against Harry's collarbone, running his tongue along the sensitive skin. He nipped at the soft flesh, sucking the skin into his mouth hard enough to bruise, and Harry groaned loudly, his head falling back against the pillows. And Zayn was good at kissing, he could do it all day long, but Harry was slipping his hands under the back of Zayn's joggers and gripping his arse, and Zayn was all to keen to forgo kissing and move on to other things.

"Zayn, please," Harry moaned, pressing his hips up against Zayn's.

Zayn pulled away, staring down at Harry. "What do you want?"

"Want you to fuck me," he groaned. "Please, want you inside of me so bad."

Zayn found himself nodding, pressing kisses to the side of Harry's face, the corner of his lips, and he pulled away to sit back on his knees. "Lube?"

"Nightstand."

He nodded and leaned over, rummaging through the nightstand until he found a half empty bottle of lube and a condom. He tossed them onto the bed before tugging off his joggers and tossing them aside. Harry grabbed his biceps and pulled him back between his legs, pressing their lips together briefly before reaching for the bottle of lube. Harry coated Zayn's fingers with a generous amount of lube before looking up at him.

Zayn bit his lip and hesitated. "I've never—"

"You'll be fine," Harry encouraged him, leaning back against the pillow and thrusting his hips up just slightly.

Zayn reached for his hips, running his thumb over the skin soothingly, as he slipped one hand between Harry's legs. He saw Harry wrap his long fingers around his cock and he pressed one finger inside of Harry. Harry instantly clenched, a groan escaping his lips, and he pushed back against him. Zayn was still in awe of Harry, in every way, from the way his mouth fell open as Zayn slid a second finger inside of him to the way he was stroking himself off slowly, not enough to bring him to the edge but enough to alleviate some of the tension.

"More," Harry choked out as he pushed his hips down around Zayn's fingers. His cock was straining against his stomach, hard and leaking, and he needed more.

Zayn slid in a third finger and Harry whimpered, his left arm falling over his eyes. Zayn leaned up, grabbing his arm and pulling it away, desperate to see Harry. His eyes were blown wide, his mouth red from where he had been biting at his lip, and he was stunning. "Fuck, Harry, you're so pretty," Zayn commented, twisting his wrist and sliding his fingers in deeper and Harry's back arched off the bed, a loud moan escaping his lips.

"Zayn, please, need you to fuck me now," Harry groaned.

"Yeah, okay," Zayn said with a nod, slipping his fingers out of Harry's body and ripping open the condom packet. He slid it on, his fingers shaking, and he positioned himself between Harry's legs. He smoothed his hands over the skin before thrusting in slowly because the last thing he wanted was to hurt him.

Harry's mouth fell open in a silent moan as Zayn bottomed out, his hips pressed against the backs of Harry's thighs. Harry's hands grappled for Zayn's biceps, digging into the skin as he pushed his hips back down, urging him to move. Zayn moved slowly at first until Harry moaned, telling him he wasn't breakable and to just fucking _move already._

Zayn pulled out, thrusting in hard and fast, admiring the way that Harry's back arched beneath him. He leaned down and brushed his lips over every part of Harry's body that he could reach, his chest, his nipples, his collarbone, the side of his throat. Harry's nails dug into Zayn's arms as he lifted his hips to meet each one of Zayn's thrusts, each one hitting the bundle of nerves inside of him that caused him to shiver. Muttered curses and Zayn's name fell from his lips alongside his groans, eyes shut tightly, and he was _so close._

"Touch yourself," Zayn instructed, pulling back a little. Harry's hands fell from his arms, one wrapping around his cock as he began to stroke himself. Zayn grabbed Harry's hips, lifting them off the bed, and he thrust back deeper inside of him, fucking him harder and faster. Harry's hand worked himself faster, keeping in time with Zayn's thrusts, and he knew he was close.

"M'gonna come, Zayn," he choked out, hand tightening around his length.

Zayn nodded, grunting himself as he held Harry's hips tighter. His movements grew jerky as he watched Harry, watched his mouth fall open, a filthy moan escaping, as he spilled over his fist, smearing all over his stomach; Zayn moaned at the sight, coming deep inside of Harry.

"Christ," Harry muttered, dropping his hand and sucking in a deep breath.

Zayn pulled out slowly, biting his lip when he heard Harry whimper, and he disposed of the condom before collapsing next to Harry.

Harry pushed his curls out of his face before rolling over, wrapping his arms and legs around Zayn.

Zayn didn't even care about the mess, not really, because it was proof of what actually just happened, and he was still in shock. He knew sex with Harry would be brilliant, but it was brilliant and amazing and so much more. He slid his fingers into Harry's hair, stroking his scalp.

Harry nuzzled against the side of Zayn's neck, lips pressed against his skin.

"You're amazing," Zayn whispered and, shit, he didn't mean to say it out loud but. It was the truth.

Harry giggled and flushed against him. "Thanks."

"Can I ask you something?"

"You can ask me anything," he told him, his voice low and a little scratchy.

"Why did you go to Liam? Why didn't you come to me?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Harry asked, pulling away and stare down at Zayn.

Zayn shook his head.

Harry smiled widely. "I fancy you, Zayn. And I didn't want to mess our friendship up since I wasn't sure how you felt," he admitted.

"And now?"

"Now I know how you feel," Harry whispered, leaning down to press their lips together.

"No more Liam?"

Harry laughed softly. "No more Liam," he promised. "Now come take a bath with me."

And Zayn listened because as much as Harry liked being to what to do in bed, Zayn was also just as likely to blindly obey the younger man outside of bed. And besides, there were definitely worse things than taking a late night bubble bath with Harry Styles.


End file.
